There are days when everything feels like gear.
And then there are days when you realise it was never about the gear.
Today started somewhere in between.
I’ve been circling the idea of a “boutique” guitar for a while now. Not because I need one, but because curiosity has a way of creeping in. Names, builds, reputations — they start to sound like possibilities.
So I went out on Saturday.
Davis felt like what I expected. Solid, familiar, reliable — but nothing that stopped me. Good guitars, no doubt. But I’ve reached a point where “good” doesn’t move me anymore.
Then I walked into Black Crane.
Different energy. Smaller. More intentional. Janet spoke about MIJ guitars not as products, but as things with context — limited runs, domestic markets, quiet excellence. I told her about Nagoya and how those shops felt alive with instruments that didn’t need to shout.
She handed me a Momose Strat.
I played.
It was beautifully made. No question. But halfway through, I already knew the truth: my Red still felt better in my hands. Not objectively. Personally.
That was an important moment.
It meant I’m no longer chasing “better.” I’m recognising “mine.”
On Sunday afternoon, I played Red, Regent, and Spring back-to-back.
No theory. No comparison charts. Just hands.
What I found surprised me.
My fingers could move fast on all three. Regent needed more precision because of the higher action. Red was easy — low action, familiar feel. Spring was smooth — the satin neck made everything glide.
Then I noticed something deeper.
I could play without my thumb touching the neck at all.
That changed things.
All the talk about neck shapes — V, C, D — suddenly felt less important. My thumb wasn’t guiding anything. My fingers were doing the work. When the thumb touched, it was more of a casual reference than a necessity. Only when I played chords did it become essential again.
So I thought: maybe neck shape doesn’t matter.
But that wasn’t quite right either.
It’s not that neck shape doesn’t matter. It’s that it matters less for movement, and more for effort. Subtle things — how much tension you carry, how your wrist sits, how long you can play before you even notice fatigue.
Red still feels like home, not because it’s faster, but because it asks less of me.
Then I went after tone.
Rolled everything back into that Clapton “woman tone” space. Clean, with Mimic Mock I.
All three guitars got there. But not in the same way.
Red held its ground immediately. No help needed.
Regent needed a clean boost.
Spring needed a bit of drive to fill things out.
All good tones. But different paths.
That matters.
Because what I’m really drawn to is not just tone, but how easily I can arrive at it.
Evening came.
After dinner, I powered up the Walkman, aerial on the A28. Music drifted in — Mrs. Bartolozzi, that washing machine pulse, and then the intro to How to Be Invisible.
I picked up Spring without thinking.
Unplugged.
A minor.
I just played. No plan. No pedals. No settings.
Five minutes passed without me noticing. Lines came and went. Nothing complicated. Just movement, phrasing, listening.
I ended on the 22nd fret.
And it felt right.
That moment told me more than all the comparisons.
I didn’t need Red.
I didn’t need boutique.
I didn’t need anything except a guitar that let me play.
So where does that leave me?
Somewhere clearer.
I’m not chasing a better guitar anymore.
I’m waiting for one that interrupts me.
Something that makes me stop evaluating and just play.
Until then, I already have what I need.
Red anchors me.
Spring carries me.
Regent reminds me to be precise.
Niko will have her moments too.
And the website?
I thought about letting it go.
But no — I’ll keep it.
It’s not a blog. It’s not content.
It’s just a place where I leave the door open.
If I ever forget days like this, I can come back and read it.
And remember:
It was never about finding the right guitar.
It was about recognising when I was already playing.